


Murphy's Law

by dandelionpower



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: First Date, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:48:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6129630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionpower/pseuds/dandelionpower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. </p><p>Written for Khim_Azaghal who asked for a disastrous first date with a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murphy's Law

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Khim_Azaghal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khim_Azaghal/gifts).



> Huge thanks to mosslover for the betaing and the help!

 

« Tonight I’m getting laid, » Anders singsongs as he adjusts his tie and straightens the collar of his shirt. He has no doubt his plans are going to be crowned with success. He had not even left the office yet and the smell of sex is in the air. He can already picture Mitchell sprawled on his red bedsheets, utterly exhausted and congratulating him on his prowess with a voice raspy for having screamed too much. Yes. Tonight will be a night to remember. “I’m getting laid,” he repeats, grinning at his reflection in the mirror.

“And how is this different from any other of your Friday nights exactly?” Dawn questions him with a sigh, placing another file into the box on her desk. She is only two files away from a well-deserved week-end and she is convinced the only reason why her boss had added a mirror in her office is to make his peacock show in front of her every Friday before leaving to hunt fresh meat in the city’s clubs.

“This is different, Dawnsie,” he assures her, turning away from the mirror to sit on the edge of her desk, “because tonight, I’m meeting some model-material.”

She rolls her eyes for good measure but she still asks. “Who’s the unlucky girl?”

“Try Irish lad instead.”

Dawn is not surprised nor scandalized. She knows Anders’ tastes go both sides depending on the mood of the moment and today is male-day apparently. Dawn’s caring heart shows a small amount of concern for the creature Anders is about to catch in his fanciful trap made of Italian silk and expensive cologne. “Tell me it’s not one of those poor boys from the modeling agency of last week’s publicity event.”

Anders looks offended “Oh, come on, Dawn! They were not even old enough to shave! For what kind of man are you taking me?”

“For one who doesn’t have much morals.”

Anders only laughs at that, and his assistant can’t help but think he might be a lost cause. “Besides, you were the one saying the word “model”,” she points out.

“I was just saying that he could be one… if someone else chose his clothes of course. That man doesn’t have any fashion sense I’m afraid. But it doesn’t really matter,” Anders decides, slapping his thighs with both hands before jumping back on his feet, “because he won’t keep them on for very long.”

Dawn ignores him and concentrates on the reading of her last file. She looks forward to a glass of wine and a long bubble bath, far from her boss’ salacious innuendos. 

“You are jealous because I get to go out tonight and you’re going to spend your Friday night watching period dramas with your cat,” Anders adds.

“I don’t have a…” Dawn begins to protest, and then she notices that once more, Anders is not really listening to what she has to say. “Nevermind,” she gives up.

Anders grabs his suit jacket on the back of his chair and slings it on his shoulder in a swift move. On his way to the door, he allows himself a last stop by his assistant’s desk to tease her a little: “Later tonight, while I’ll be climbing Tall, Dark and Handsome like a tree, I’ll remember you and how gave me your approval, unconditional support and best wishes for this date to go as well as possible.”  

“Have a great week-end, Anders!” Dawn growls, and the way she says it makes it clear that what she means is “disappear already!”

“Have a good one, Dawnsie,” he beams as he passes the door. Nothing seems to be able to kill his cheer and confidence.

It’s only after he is gone and that the office is silent again that Dawn notices that something is off. Since when is Anders Johnson doing “ _dates”_?

***

 Mitchell is not really paying attention to his house mates’ conversation. Instead, he busies himself with turning his lighter on and off. He watches the little, fragile flame dance a few seconds through the air draft before he makes it vanish once more.

George turns toward him on the old couch they’re sharing. “What’s your plans for tonight?” he asks the vampire.  This had been a rather shitty day at the hospital and the werewolf hopes Mitchell would be up to go out and get utterly hammered to celebrate the end of a long week.

But Mitchell already has plans of his own: plans that make him both giddy and smug.  “Anders and I… we….” he begins to explain, finding himself unexpectedly blushing at the mere idea. “We decided to… well… not that we really decided anything for sure… but I’m seeing him tonight and… you know.”

“Sex, Mitchell!” Annie supplies. “You are going to have sex!”

“Yeah,” Mitchell breathes with a goofy grin. “Gay sex,” he specifies, in case his friends weren’t quite following.

Annie rolls her eyes.  “We got that, thank you: with you two being men and all.”  She can’t quite grasp how someone who’s been an adult for a hundred years can still act like a twelve-year-old when it comes to speaking about the basic things of life.

Always good-natured, George is delighted for his best friend. “Mitchell! You’re going on a date with him! It’s amazing!” he rejoices.

Mitchell’s smile spreads wider across his face. “Isn’t it?”

“I’m so happy for you!”

“Aww. Thank you George.”

Those two cooing birds should just well be in the same nest, the ghost ponders. “Why don’t you snog each other! Just snog each other!” Annie despairs.

George pats Mitchell’s knee and stands up to head to the kitchen. “I think Mitchell would rather snog Anders than me,” George points out. 

“Yeah, sorry mate,” the vampire apologizes. 

“That’s fine.”

Annie studies the vampire’s dreamy expression. She does not know Anders, but Mitchell mentioned him before, and every time he did, he had that little silly smile that makes her think this date is a bigger deal for him than he would admit.  “When are you supposed to meet him?” she inquires.

Mitchell squirms to take his phone from his jeans’ back pocket and gives it a quick glance. “I told him I would be at the pub at nine. I still have half an hour before leaving.”

“And you are going to spend it there on the couch, burning your fingers and smiling at thin air like an idiot.”

“Pretty much,” he admits without any shame. 

“Did you even take a shower?” she questions him.

“I put on some cologne.”

“Rubbing magazine samples under your armpits doesn’t count, you know.”

The lighter spits sparks and the vampire shrugs.

Annie scans her friend’s brown, rumpled flannel, his jeans worn out at the knees and his dirty combat boots propped up on the coffee table. “Are you going to go there dressed like that?”

The vampire looks down at himself with a frown, but he doesn’t seem to mind the view. “Yes, why? What’s wrong?”

“Everything, Mitchell. Just everything,” Annie sighs. She gets on her feet and extends a hand to help him up from the couch. “Come on! I’m going to find you something else to wear.”

“Nooo,” Mitchell whines. “I’m fine like that.”

“No you are not,” she insist. “You won’t be happy if Anders sweeps you off your feet but only to put you into the nearest dumpster.”

“Jeezus,” Mitchell surrenders, putting his hand in her colder, offered one.  “Please, do not make me wear a tie though,” he begs as he lets himself be dragged upstairs.

***

“So, am I classy enough for your liking now?” Mitchell asks the ghost, spinning around. 

“Your outfit is perfect,” Annie approves, looking up and down at a vampire clad in straight-legged black trousers and a white v-neck t-shirt that compliments Mitchell’s broad shoulders and lean waist.

“Good. That’s sorted then,” the vampire declares, putting his gloves and leather jacket back on. He takes a bottle of lube from the nightstand and slips it into his pocket.

“You really think you’ll end up between the sheets on the first date?” the ghost asks. “You seem very optimistic.”

“I have every reason to be,” he states, without explaining any further.  Mitchell fumbles some more through the drawers and takes a stripe of condoms that ends up in his pocket at well.

Annie frowns. “You don’t need those. It’s not like you could catch a STD or infect anybody: you are dead.”

“Yes, but Anders doesn’t know that.”  

“True,” she concedes. 

Mitchell heads for the door, but Annie steps aside to block the exit. “Where do you think you are going?”

“To my date.”

“Your hair is all messy.” 

The vampire sighs, then attempts to tame it back with both hands. “Better now?”

“No, it’s not. You only managed to make it look greasy. Let me take care of it, okay? Sit there,” she orders, pointing at a chair. 

“I’m going to be late, Annie,” Mitchell tries to fight his way out of more aesthetic treatments. “I had to choose a pub with no mirror behind the bar and the only one I found is at the other side of the city. I have to hurry up.”

“It’s going to take five minutes.”

“Make it two.”

***

“Damn it!” Anders curses his GPS, even if it’s not exactly the device’s fault if the traffic is jammed. There was an accident and nobody can move for a good fifteen minutes now. He honks his horn, just to vent his frustration. The guy in the jeep in front of Anders flips him the bird through his opened window.

“Fucker,” the blond man grunts between his teeth.

This is not a good start for an evening that was meant to have a happy ending. If Anders shows up late, it considerably lessens his chances of getting laid. And somehow, he does not want Mitchell to think that he doesn’t care. 

***

Mitchell thought they had agreed on two minutes, but somehow, the ghost manages to make it turn into twenty.

“Thanks Annie, you are the best,” Mitchell says, standing up from the chair despite her protests, “but I really have to go now.” He kisses her on the cheek, runs downstairs before she can try to hold him back again. He grab his keys and thirty seconds later, he is in his car. He knows he’s already late, but if he burns a few yellow lights, he might be able to get there only ten minutes late, which, he hopes, can still count as “fashionably late”. Despite that, Mitchell already feels guilty for making Anders wait.

 He turns the key in the ignition, but nothing happens. He gulps and tries again, with the same result. That’s when he realize that the headlights are still on. He had forgotten to turn them off and now the battery is dead. “Oh no! For Christ’s sake!” he cusses, punching the steering wheel.  He has no time to find someone to boost his car. But if he hurries to the bus station, he can probably catch the one that goes to the part of the city where the pub is.

He slams his car’s door closed. He’ll deal with his mechanical problems later.

The bus station is a ten minutes’ walk from the house, but Mitchell is a good jogger and vampire stamina makes him get there in five minutes. He heaves a sigh of relief when he sees that the bus number 62 is still there. Maybe luck is on his side after all. Maybe nothing is lost yet and he’ll get a taste of Anders tonight.

As he lowers the pace and walks to the bus’ door, he digs in his pockets to find some change, only to realize he doesn’t have any. The only thing in his wallet is his credit card. He throws a hopeful, kicked-puppy look to the driver, but the old man shakes his head and close the door, leaving the brunet alone and despaired on the sidewalk.

Mitchell chews on his bottom lip as he looks at the bus disappear around the corner of the street. He can always find a cashpoint, but the next night-bus for this part of the city won’t come before at least half an hour, and Mitchell doesn’t have that much time. Cabs are ridiculously expensive, but it’s the only option he has left.

He fetches his phone in his back pocket. He will call a cab and then he’ll text Anders to tell him he’s going to be late.

“What the fuck!?” he hisses out loud, startling a little old lady passing by.

She throws him a distrustful glare, probably blaming video games and violent movies for making young people so rude.

Mitchell pays no attention to her. He looks down at his phone in disbelief. He could have sworn his phone battery was 50% charged when he last checked. Now his screen indicated 2%. He won’t be able to call a cab and text Anders: he has to choose.

He opts for the cab, and as predicted, his phone turns off by itself a second after he hangs up. Now Anders has no way to contact him. Mitchell lights up a cigarette as he waits for the cab. All he hopes is that his hot date won’t think he set him up.

***

Anders keeps an eye on the stalled row of cars in front of him and the other one on his smart phone. He finds Mitchell’s number in his list of contacts and sends him a quick text.

_“There’s an accident on the highway. I’m going to be late.”_

He is about to send it, but then he adds: _“Gives you more time to pine for me.”_ He considers deleting this last line. It sounds stupid, but he decides against it and leaves it there.

Anders presses “send” and keeps on fidgeting with the phone. He imagines Mitchell getting bored of waiting for him and leaving with somebody else. He doesn’t like the thought at all. He would hate to end the evening alone, like a sore loser. That cute Irishman is supposed to be his bedroom’s decoration tonight, not anybody else’s.

Just as he begins to be seriously stressed out, the red jeep in front of him starts moving. 

“Fucking finally!” Anders lets out, starting the engine again.

It’s 9:25 when Anders finally walks into the pub. There are not many costumers yet: only a few local workers drinking their pints in silence, seated on the bar’s stools and a loud group of friends in a corner. The place is small and the blond man only has to cast a look around to see that Mitchell is not there yet… or that maybe he is already gone. As he sits at the bar, Anders checks his phone. He has no reply from the Irishman.

 _“I’m at the pub? Where the hell are you? Get your sexy arse here,”_ he sends, but he feels way less confident than his message sounds.

“What do you want to drink?” the barman asks Anders, but the Kiwi shakes his head. He tells the man he is waiting for someone.

As long minute’s passes, Anders gets more and more disappointed, and he hates this feeling. His enjoyable expectations crumble before his eyes like a sand castle washed by the sea. Twenty minutes later he is still alone and his phone is silent, but now he needs alcohol more than ever. He hails the barman and orders a double dry vodka.

 

***

Mitchell had saved the address of the bar in his phone and the device only shows a black screen now. He remembers the street’s name but he can’t recall if the address was 175, 715 or 517. He asks the cabbie to drop him on a corner and decides to walk down the street until he sees that bar’s sign.

As soon as he puts feet on the sidewalk, the rain starts pouring. He pulls his jacket over his head, but it’s already too late. So much for Annie’s efforts to make his hair look good.

He jogs under the rain for 500 meters but still doesn’t see any anything that looks like The Red Room Bar & Lounge. “ _Am I even on the right street?”_ Mitchell worries.

***

Anders chews on his second martini’s toothpick. He stares at his phone lying on the bar’s red surface. The device stayed silent since the Kiwi sat there. He has to face the reality: Mitchell won’t show up. The last time they’ve met, they gave each other their phone numbers and the tall brunet seemed as interested as Anders was. They had exchanged several messages during the week. Maybe Anders had misinterpreted the signs and mistaken Mitchell’s fond teasing for flirting.  But he could swear that Mitchell was into him as well.

He’s getting tired of waiting. Anders grabs his phone with a sigh and slips it back into his inner pocket. He pays his bill and takes a last look around the room that starts getting crowded. He could try his chance with one of the drunk chicks giggling at one of the table. The three brunettes look like Anders’ usual prey, but any desire for company had left him.

He heads to the door, wondering what he has done to deserve that his date bail on him like that.

Anders had not even noticed the rain and he is about to step out on the sidewalk when he collides with a chest.

“Anders!?” the owner of the chest exclaims.

Mitchell looks like a black lab puppy after its bath. Some droplets still cling to the tip of his curls. Anders would laugh if a mix of shock and lingering anger didn’t prevent him to. “You are late,” he remarks.

“I know. I’m very sorry.”  While Mitchell is a disaster, Anders, the Irishman notices, looks impeccable and handsome as usual. “You are leaving already?” he asks the blond man, unable to conceal the disappointment in his voice.

“I was about to. I thought you would not show.”

“I’m so sorry,” the Irishman apologizes again. “I really wanted to make it on time, but my car broke down and I missed the bus.”

“You could have told me,” Anders retorts. “I texted you.”

“My battery is dead,” the vampire explains, showing Anders the device’s blank screen as a proof.  

Anders eyes the vampire, wary, trying to figure out if these are lies. But the taller man looks genuinely guilty and the kicked-puppy look in the hazel eyes makes Anders soften.

They are still standing there, in an awkward stance, between the double doors. “Let me buy you a drink to make up for it,” Mitchell offers. “You can’t leave now anyway. It’s raining cats and dogs.”

Anders peeks outside above the brunet’s shoulder. Mitchell is right. And besides, he doesn’t really want to leave. Even drenched, the lad still looks incredibly attractive and Anders decides he is going to take that unexpected second chance.

Mitchell escorts Anders back inside and they take a seat at the bar. The Kiwi orders the most expensive drink available and Mitchell pays for it with a smile. They start chatting, and the evening’s mishap fades in their mind. Anders rediscovers exactly what had drawn him to Mitchell in the first place, besides his obvious good looks. The Irishman is laid-back, he has an easy laugh and they share a similar kind of humor. Speaking with him is easy and natural. The occasional silences are not awkward and soon, Anders forgets about the clients he hates or about Mike who called him today to remind him he disapproves of everything he does. As they chat, the brunet keeps his arms open, like inviting Anders into his personal space. He unconsciously leans toward Anders every time he bursts in laughter. These are little signs that Anders observes and note with an inner grin.

He is having a great time with Mitchell. Sure he is still planning on taking the sexy beast home, but he realizes he had managed to enjoy himself without thinking about sex for almost a whole hour.

The string of bad lucks seems to have reached its end for tonight, thank god. But when Murphy’s Law takes a break, it’s never a long one.

“Anders Johnson!!!!” a high-pitched voice exclaims. “Never thought I would see your face again!”

There is a girl standing by the bar, looking straight at Anders. She obviously had a drink too many. Her advanced stage of intoxication is obvious by the way she stands, speaks and moves. Her face is vaguely familiar, but Anders fails to put a name on the blue eyes, blond hair and fake boobs.

“Sorry! Who are you?” Anders inquires, moving his stool to the side, as if trying to hide her from Mitchell’s sight. But it’s too late and she is so loud half the people in the bar are looking her way already.

Her fingers with long, red nails clench around her glass of beer like the claws of a bird of prey.  “Yeah,” she hisses, “you probably can’t recall all the poor girls you fucked and lied to.”

Annoyance and his effort to remember makes Anders squint. A name finally appears in his tipsy brain. “You’re Sheila, right?” He remembers now… or rather: he remembers that he doesn’t remember much. They were both pretty pissed the night they ended up together in bed and the lines of recreational substances they snorted did not help. It had not been a good lay, and when Anders had woken up in the morning, he regretted it. He showed her the door and did not even indulge her a farewell fuck. He had not bothered pretending he would call her… or did he?

“You promised you’d call,” she accuses him, her eyes full of spite.

 _“Maybe I did after all,”_ Anders ponders.

“You are a fucking liar: a liar and a douchebag,” she added.  

Anders glances at Mitchell who looks utterly uncomfortable, like any sane person would in the same situation. It’s the astonishment in the wide, brown eyes that makes the blond man suspect he had lost all his chances with the Irishman. Anders knows his only exit from that situation is to use Bragi on the girl to make her leave, and then use it on Mitchell so he forgets what he heard and saw. But the idea of using his godly powers on Mitchell doesn’t appeal to him at all, for a reason he can’t exactly pinpoint yet.

“Listen, Sheila,” Anders starts, but he doesn’t have enough time to make Bragi’s voice enter her brain and numb her.

Without warning, she pours her drink down Anders’ front with a manic grin. “It’s all you deserve, you prick!”

The sensation of the cold beer running down his chest and stomach, soaking his shirt, paralyzes Anders for a short moment. But he gathers his wits quickly. “Fuck!! You’re bloody insane!!!” he barks, standing up to face her. Every single person in the room is now looking their way. Sheila is still laughing as the doorman takes her to the exit.  

 Mitchell reaches to touch the Kiwi’s elbow. “Anders-“

“I’m fine!” Anders snaps, taking his arm away from the brunet’s touch in a jerking move. He heads to the men’s restroom as fast as possible and without a look back.

***

For long minutes, the Irishman doesn’t dare moving. He sits back on his stool and pretends to be very interested on what is written on the coaster under his glass of beer. Now that Anders and the girl are gone, he becomes the customers’ center of attention. He doesn’t make a very good show, though. They lose interest in him and get back into their drinking and conversations.

Anders is not coming back and Mitchell starts to worry. He knows the blond man had pushed him away, but he can’t leave the Kiwi alone like that. At least the polite thing to do, as a date, would be to check on him.

He takes a deep breath and walks across the room to the large wooden door of the men’s restrooms. Mitchell pushes it, but he can’t get past the doorframe. He freezes on the spot and his lips part in a silent gasp.

Anders’ jacket is on the top of one of the stalls’ door. He had taken his shirt off as well and he is cursing as he tries to wash the beer off it in the sink with the bad, weird smelling liquid soap.  

It’s the first time Mitchell sees Anders with so few clothes on. It’s the reason for his sudden paralysis. The Kiwi is fitter and toner than the vampire expected. The hazel eyes watch the plays of shoulders muscles under the golden skin, and then, follows the line of the spine down. He thinks that Anders should give up on the suit jacket more often, because its absence gives the brunet the perfect opportunity of appraise the Kiwi’s backside. And _holy hell_ : what a sight to behold. So round and inviting. Mitchell open and close his fists- his hands aching to grab, knead and fondle. Those legs seem to have the right length and built to fit just well wrapped around his hips. Mitchell has to take a deep breath. The sudden lust threatens to make him vamp out. His inner beast tends to react when Mitchell’s basic instinct enters in action. 

He realizes he’s going to have to stop staring and make his presence known at some point.

He clears his throat and the Kiwi turns around.

“I’m sorry Anders….about what happened,” Mitchell emits, sheepish. “Really…. I am.” The ruin of Anders’ outfit is not his fault, but he still has on his conscience the fact he probably spoiled the evening before it even started by being late. He steps into the room and closes the door.

“I wasn’t planning on taking a beer shower tonight,” Anders growls, but most of his anger has already worn off. If anything he seems more concerned than aggressive. 

In a spontaneous gesture, Mitchell takes his leather jacket off. Despite having run under the rain, the inside of it is still dry. It’s one of the reasons why Mitchell loves this piece of clothing so much. “Take it,” he tells Anders, placing the jacket on the blond man’s shoulders. “You can’t go home in a soaked shirt.”

“Hm. Yeah. Thank you,” Anders accepts without a fuss, putting his arms through the sleeves. The coat has a faint smell of manly musk that doesn’t fail to arouse the god. He looks at the vampire’s face as Mitchell zips the jacket. This is his cue to use Bragi. The date had been disastrous, but the way the white t-shirt clings to Mitchell’s biceps, the way the neckline reveals a bit of tanned skin, dark chest hair and promises a lean and muscular body, makes Anders’ mouth water.  He can still convince Mitchell to follow him home. But he realizes he does not want to use his godly powers on the brunet. He would like Mitchell to sleep with him of his own accord. This is unlikely to happen at that point. He is going to have to pass his turn. 

The god suddenly realized how close they are standing. Mitchell’s fingers lingers on the zip. The vampire’s gaze drops to Anders mouth as he exhales: a clear invitation. Anders is confused. The acrid smell of beer had covered the one of his cologne. He stinks and his hairdo is ruined. Why does Mitchell want to kiss him after that fiasco? He is not one to argue with the good things, though. But instead of taking his lips with his, Mitchell unzips the leather coat slowly. Anders shudders but he still holds the vampire’s gaze as the taller man slips a hand under the fabric.

Anders’ skin is hot and smooth under Mitchell’s fingertips as he starts caressing his stomach. The vampire smiles when he sees the other’s pupils blown wide and hears his breath hitch. Anders’ neck and the column of his throat: they would be perfect canvas for Mitchell to trace patterns, arabesques, twirls and swirls with his tongue. This time, he does not hesitate: he leans forward. At same moment Anders lifts his chin up. Their lips meet in a warm greeting, slightly tentative at first, but the initial hesitation does not last for long.

Anders’ grip gets firmer on Mitchell’s t-shirt as he pulls the vampire closer. He has his hips flush against Mitchell’s and the Irishman thinks the hard-on he can feel in the blond man’s trousers might be a good canvas as well to practice his tongue’s artistic skills. Anders sighs into the kiss and Mitchell swallows it like a treat, grinding against the smaller man’s lower stomach in response. He wants Anders to feel exactly how much he wants him. This time, Anders moans louder. Mitchell catches the sound between his teeth and savors it.

A guy walks in on them and he grunts something about “fags” before heading to the nearest toilet stall. But Anders and Mitchell don’t even notice. They are elsewhere- in another dimension where only them two exist and their senses are filled with each other’s taste, body and breathing. It’s only when the guy is gone that they finally part.

“We were truly cursed tonight,” Anders says, a hint of relief in his voice.

“Well, you know what they say about kisses in fairy tales,” Mitchell winks. “We might have well broken the curse for the night.”

The Kiwi smirks. “And if I fuck you really hard, we might as well break it forever.”

Mitchell throws his head back and laughs. “So much for the fairy tale.”

Anders’ gaze drops. He is always so confident. But with Mitchell, it’s like he is losing all his bearings. “Does that mean you want to come back to my place?” he inquires. 

The vampire’s smile fades a little but the hand that rests on Anders’ hips had not moved. There is worry in the brown eyes now when their gazes lock again. “Of course… What made you think the contrary?"

“What that girl said about me: it’s true, you know.”

“I’m not here to judge your lifestyle or slut-shame you, Anders,” the Irishman asserts. “You’re a big boy. You live your life as you want. Of course, I’d be disappointed if after tonight you didn’t call me back… but I’m ready to take that risk. And I’m sorry if me showing up late made you feel unwanted. I very much wanted to be there on time, and I very much want you right now.”

Reassured, Anders allow himself a cocky smile. “That’s good news.”

“So, your place?… or mine, for that matter,” the vampire inquires. “I don’t care, as long as I get to have you.”

“My place is better,” the god decides.  

“Yes, probably.”

“And I even changed the bed sheets especially for the occasion.”

Mitchell raises an eyebrow, amused. “I feel spoilt.”

“Yep. And it would be a shame not to use them,” Anders pointed out. “I’m all for water economy and saving the planet you know.”

“Alright, come on, Mister Greenpeace. Let’s get out of here,” the Irishman teases, grabbing Anders’ wet shirt and his suit jacket. They walk out of the lavatories together.  “And, you know what they say,” Mitchell adds as they reach the exit; “ ‘be kind to animals: kiss an Irishman.’ ”

“Never heard that one before,” Anders comments as he opens the door to let Mitchell pass before him.  

“I know, I just made that up.”

The rain had stopped. The warm and humid air envelops their shared laugh as the night outside the bar engulfs them both into its embrace. Murphy’s law is gone to bed already, deciding it tormented them enough for the night and that they finally deserve to have their fun.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :) As usual, I'm looking forward to know your opinion.


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